The Tattoo Parlour
by SynethesiaTastesGrey
Summary: The scenes in the tattoo in CbS, rewritten from Pritkin's POV.
1. Preparation

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own these characters or this world, Karen Chance does.**

**A/N: I was going to write all this as one chapter, but this is actually quite a long scene, so I'm splitting it up into several chapters, which I'll post over the next 2-3 weeks :D**

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I stalked into the drab tattoo parlour and Mac rushed out from behind the curtain. He stopped short when he saw me and his face paled under his many tats.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I take it things didn't work out."

I ran my fingers through my hair and winced when they came away sticky and bloody. No wonder Mac looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Oh, they worked out, after a fashion," I told him and he looked surprised.

"Then where's Palmer?"

"She's coming. Hopefully."

He nodded and headed into the back, where he perched on the edge of the book covered cot and looked at me expectantly.

"So what happened?" he asked eagerly.

I sighed and headed for the bathroom. "I need to wash up," I called over my shoulder, and Mac followed with a scowl. A small lizard, peering over his eyebrow, gave me an admonitory glance and then scuttled away into his hair as if startled by his own daring.

"Oh, come on John, you can't just waltz in here, looking like you took a bath in your own blood and then clam up!"

"It's not all mine," I said reproachfully.

"Really?"

I thought about it. "No."

I took off my coat. One side of it was drenched in blood but at least I could wipe that off. My t-shirt was okay too, but my jeans were history. I turned to see Mac glowering at me from the door. I grinned at him ruefully.

"Get me some new jeans and I'll tell you everything."

He nodded reluctantly and left, leaving me to squeeze into the tiny shower cubicle, struggling to fit as much of myself as possible under the weak spray. I washed hastily, trying not to give myself time to think but the same words kept echoing insistently in my head. 'If someone's messing with your conception or something I'm not feeling a pressing need to intervene.' What a bitch!

I don't know why being insulted by someone who, I had, in fairness, tried to kill a few times, bothered me so much, but perhaps it had something to do with the calm way she said it. She was so cold, never empathic. Vampiric. The thought of

someone like her being Pythic chilled me.

I rinsed the last traces of blood from my hair and stepped out of the cramped shower. A pair of jeans hit me in the face and slid down to reveal Mac, practically bouncing with anticipation, his tattoos wriggling madly over his skin as if they sensed his excitement.

"So?" he blurted.

I got dressed as I filled him in. He waited patiently until I was done before letting loose with a heartfelt string of curses.

"Bloody Hell, you've really done it this time, John."

I shrugged.

"Seriously mate, they're gonna mount your nuts in a trophy cabinet!"

I looked at him sardonically. We were sitting opposite each other in the back room, him on the cluttered cot and me on the tattoo bench. Mac tugged thoughtfully at his moustache. "What next?" he asked.

I leaned back against the wall, rubbing my chin and trying to think. "I need to get to Myra and I need Palmer with me."

He shook his head wearily. "I dunno John. All this, just because of your oath? I mean, you said no to the council, and to be honest mate, Myra isn't exactly coming out of this squeaky clean." I said nothing and he pressed on. "You'll have to convince Palmer to trust you, then get into Faerie, despite being a fugitive, with Palmer on tow. Why does it matter so much?"

I sat up angrily. "Because I won't just be a hired gun, Mac! This is twice now the Council has tried to use me to casually kill someone off, because they're interfering with those bastards' personal agenda!" I took a deep breath, knowing I was shouting at the wrong person.

"I have enough blood on my hands without slaughtering innocents," I said more quietly. "And yes, I know Myra isn't necessarily innocent, but I'll make damn sure she's guilty before I sit by and let someone kill her. The same goes for Palmer." I looked up to see Mac watching me carefully. After a moment he nodded.

"So, how are we going to go about convincing this sybil she needs to go to Faerie?"

I had the answer to that one at least. "She wants revenge."

"On Myra?"

I shook my head. "Antonio Gallina. She wants him dead."

"Why?"

"God only knows! Maybe she only likes the pretty vamps. She grew up in his court, that's all I know."

Light dawned on Mac's face and the eagle on his chest screeched. "And he's in Faerie."

"Right."

He got up and took a can of Coke out of the fridge. "Well, that's great. Now how exactly do you plan on getting there?"

I told him and he blanched. "John, even for you, that's crazy. And even if by some miracle you do make to Faerie alive, you'll be sitting ducks. The Fey will have you for breakfast!"

I got up too and picked up one of the many books of wards from the cot. "About that. I'm going to need some backup."

"If your plan works out, you won't have me mate. And I can't imagine Palmer would be much help."

I snorted. "Not that kind of backup. I need a ward." I started flipping through the book until I found the section I was looking for and showed it to him. "Something like these."

Mac sat again, muttering to himself and pulling at his moustache. He began consulting various books, rooting through the

teetering piles around him, while I paced restlessly.

After a few minutes he looked up. "Okay. You need a weapon, something that'll pack as much punch in Faerie as it will here. For that, I recommend you get a special Fey ward, that will imprint on your aura and manifest when you – "

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "I know what you're talking about, Mac."

He rolled his eyes and continued. "Alright, well, one of the best wards would be the traditional Fey dagger, but I'm not sure that would be powerful enough." He stared into space for a long moment, then brightened. "I've got it. I'll combine the sword symbol used to enhance fighting prowess with the incantations for the dagger. Will that do?"

I nodded. "So long as you can get it done quickly."

He shot me a wry glance. "Shirt off and get on the bench. I'll get my stuff." I obliged and he bustled around for a few minutes, before setting up a tray of what appeared to be small implements of torture. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment as he laid the stencil on my back and started inking it in.

"You're gonna have to push those pants down a bit, mate," he remarked. "The stencil's too long otherwise." I sat up, unzipped my jeans, and slid the waistband down, twisting to look at the stencil. I scowled as I lay back down.

"I just need a sword," I reminded him. "There's no need to draw some kind of work of art on my back."

Mac continued unperturbed. He worked away in silence for about 10 minutes, while I got more and more impatient. In the end, I snapped.

"Mac, how long does it take to draw a goddamn sword?"

He sighed. "You have no soul, you know that?"

I half turned to glare at him, and he held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright, take it easy!" He picked up a mirror that lay next to his little tray of horrors and started towards me. Without warning, he froze, staring into the distance.

"Someone's coming."

I tensed, not bothering to ask how he knew. It was his ward. It stood to reason he'd know what was happening around it.

"Did you arrange a recognition signal with Palmer?"

I winced. "No." I hadn't even thought of it. Damn, that was sloppy.

"Well, what does she look like then?"

I thought about it. "Pretty, blonde, bitchy – like a cheerleader packing a Smith's and Wesson." He rolled his eyes at my description, put down the mirror, and headed out into the front room.

I lay still, staring at the wall, listening to Mac talking outside and a female voice answering him. My heart began thudding loudly in my chest, and it took me a moment to realize why. I was nervous. Well, fair enough. A lot of things depended on the next hour. I had to convince a woman who I'd like nothing more than to strangle that I was legitimate, when the best friend I had didn't really understand why I was doing this.

But, being completely honest with myself, it was more than that. Cassandra Palmer always put me on edge. I always felt strangely off balance around her and I didn't know why.

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A/N: Btw, if anyone has any favourite Pritkin/Cassie moments (or just Pritkin moments) that they would like to see from a crazy war mage perspective, just tell me and I'll write it when I get a chance :)**


	2. Persuasion

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, I love you guys!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't this, Karen Chance does.

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Mac walked back into the room and picked up the mirror again. I contorted myself to see the design and gritted my teeth.

"I still say it's too elaborate," I grumbled. "A plain sword is all I need."

Mac looked affronted. "What are you on about? Look at the lines, the artistry. I've outdone myself!"

I snorted in disgust. The slender motif was pretty, there was no other word for it, and it was going to take all bloody day. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up: I could feel Palmer staring at me and I scowled.

"Take a break, John!" Mac broke the silence with exaggerated cheerfulness. "This pretty young thing brought lunch."

I sat up and zipped up my jeans, keeping my back to Palmer. I turned around to find her watching me curiously. Our eyes met and she plastered a fake smile across her face.

"John?" she queried and I felt a tiny flash of anxiety.

"It's a good, honest, English name," I snarled, automatically going on the defensive before it occurred to me that that was exactly the wrong thing to do.

"Sorry," she replied, holding up a greasy paper bag, which I realized was the lunch Mac had mentioned. "It just doesn't sound like you."

I shot her a look. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was mocking me.

I grabbed my t-shirt. Something about the way she was eyeing me made me feel self-conscious. "You forgot I was dropping in?" she asked as I put it on.

"I wasn't sure you would be," I answered bluntly. Her lips thinned, but she grabbed a sub out of the bag and tucked into it without comment.

After a moment, I decided she had the right idea. I took a sandwich out of the bag and grimaced as the smell of grease assailed my nostrils. Gross. I glanced at Palmer, who was wolfing hers as though she hadn't eaten in a week. She finished it, wiped a smear of sauce off her face and licked it off her fingers. It should have been off putting, but for some reason, the gesture sent a pulse of hunger through me that had nothing to do with the greasy sandwich in my hands.

I jerked my eyes back down to it quickly, horrified that I was getting turned on by Cassandra Palmer, of all people! God, I really must be desperate.

"Tick tock," said the unwitting object of my reflections. "You have fifty minutes left. If you want to spend them eating or getting tattooed, go right ahead. But when your time is up, I'm outta here."

I focused carefully on my sandwich before answering. "To go where? If you have some ridiculous notion of surviving a trip to Faerie on your own, allow me to point out one small fact. Your power doesn't work there, or will be very unpredictable if it does. For that reason, Pythias have made it a habit to leave the Fey strictly alone. You can go against tradition, but with your power unreliable and your ward blocked, you won't last a day.

I sat down on the cot and picked a lump of what appeared to be gristle out the sandwich. It was truly disgusting, but I was hungry and I hadn't a clue when I was going to get another chance to eat. I took a bite and swallowed, trying very hard not to think about cholestrol.

I watched Palmer covertly out of the corner of my eye. She was thinking my little spiel over, and then her eyes suddenly focused on a random point in the air.

"Gee, thanks so much," she drawled sarcastically, and I realized that her ghost-familiar must be there. Mac, however, stared at her in confusion and I smirked. I had forgotten to mention Palmer's habit of having random conversations with ghosts.

She stared at someone only she could see, clearly listening to what it had to say.

"We haven't had an offer yet," she remarked and Mac looked up at me.

"What the hell?" he mouthed and I shrugged, too busy trying to keep up with the one-sided conversation to explain.

"I could have managed on my own," she sulked and I frowned. Where they talking about the Casino? I took another bite of my sandwich and almost gagged. I had forgotten what I was eating.

"Are you just gonna sit there and eat or what?" Palmer snapped impatiently, like I'd been the one spacing out to have a conversation with a dead person.

I forced myself to swallow and met her eyes. "We worked together before when we had a common cause. We have one again. I am proposing we join forces long enough to deal with our mutual dilemma."

I kept a careful eye on her, knowing it was a long shot. Technically, we had worked together, but only very briefly, after we'd had a fight of epic proportions in the Senate's embassy, during which she'd stabbed me and I'd retaliated by trying to shoot, curse and blow her up. It was a lot to swallow, and she wasn't that stupid. But if I'd interpreted her talk with her ghost correctly, she was in need of help. Now it all depended on just how desperate she was. She wrinkled her brow.

"You have a grudge against Tony?" She sounded suspicious. "Since when?"

"The Circle have issued a warrant for him, but that isn't my interest," I informed her. Still frowning, she scrumpled her sandwich wrapper, tossed it at the bin and missed. I suppressed a smirk, as she turned back to me.

"Then what is?"

I took a drink from Mac's Coke can and made a face, trying to seem casual. This was the part where the truth and my words began to walk slightly diverging paths.

"I want you to help me recover the sybil called Myra."

Palmer stared at me. "What?"

Suspicion was back in those blue eyes, drilling into me. I elaborated.

"None of our locating charms have turned up anything." I said nothing about six agonizing months of frantic searching, while Lady Phemenroe wasted away before the appalled eyes of the Circle. "Therefore it is a fair guess that she is hiding in Faerie, where our magic doesn't work. In return for your help, I promise not to take you before the Circle and to assist you in dealing with your former master."

She glared at me. "I don't even know where to start." There was a sudden hint of iron flashing through the beautiful facade. "First, you aren't taking me anywhere, and second, why should I help you bring back my rival? So your Circle can kill me and reinstate her? For some reason that doesn't appeal."

It was a valid point, one that I needed to refute quickly and plausibly, so it was a really bad time to notice that her eyes had gone a stunningly vivid shade of blue. I wrenched my mind back on track and glowered at her. For God's sake, how the Hell did she worm her way into my head like that?

"The Circle has no plans to put her in your place," I retorted sharply. "As for the other, do not overestimate your abilities or underestimate mine. If I wanted to capture you I would. And even if I refrain, eventually, someone will. The Circle will never stop chasing you, and they have to get lucky only once. You, on the other hand, have to elude all of their traps, with little knowledge of the magical world to aid you. Only with my help can you hope to avoid the fate the Circle has planned for you – and for her. "

She sneered and for a very weird moment, her expression reminded me of me. "Oh right. They're going to kill the only trained initiate they have. Why do I doubt that?"

I met Mac's eyes and was struck by how depressed he looked. The Circle had been his whole life and I knew how much this rebellion of ours unsettled him. But he needed to face the truth and I couldn't soften it for him.

"Some of us have noticed a disturbing tendency in the Circle's leadership lately," I admitted. "They seem to care less for our traditional mission and more for power every year. The Silver have always been separate from the Black, not only in how we obtain power but in what we do with it. I fear the Council has forgotten that."

Mac nodded in agreement. "And now they have a new candidate for Pythia, one of the more docile initiates. If both you and Myra die, they believe she'll inherit." His tattoos moved restlessly over his skin, emphasizing his agitation. "I knew we had some rot at the core but this is worse than any of us guessed. He power chooses the Pythia. That has been a maxim for thousands of years, because to have the wrong person in power is to invite disaster. Dark mages are always trying to find ways to slip through time, to remake the world the way they want, and every once in a while one succeeds. Without a proper Pythia on the throne, our entire existence is in danger! The council must be stopped!"

Palmer just looked at him.

"Uh-huh," she muttered turning those clear, searching eyes on Mac. She did not sound convinced.

I sat in silence. Hearing it said aloud made the problem seem even more glaring than before. The chances of a trustworthy, intelligent candidate becoming Pythia were looking slimmer and slimmer all the time. Lady Phemenroe had been brilliant and very independent. I was struck, once again, by a vast wave of loss and disbelief. It still didn't seem real that she could be dead.

Without warning, Palmer leaned over and snapped her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to the present.

"So what's your story?" she demanded. "Are you also in this out of the goodness of your heart?"

The sarcasm in her tone rankled and I gave her a black look.

"I am in it, as you say, because I resent being made into a murderer. I was given the assignment of locating Myra for trial, even though the verdict in her case is a forgone conclusion. Others are searching for you, and I have no doubt that their instructions were the same as mine. If I did not think she could be taken alive, I was free to use extreme measures to ensure that she did not continue to threaten the Circle's interests."

I didn't mention the way the Circle had manipulated me where Palmer was concerned.

"Trial?" Palmer straightened slightly, looking interested. "What did she do?"

"She has been implicated in the death of the Pythia," I explained and she looked blank. Then her eyes widened as she caught up.

"You mean Agnes."

Hearing her say the Pythia's given name so casually was like a hot cheese grater against raw nerves.

"Show some respect!" I snarled. "Use her proper title."

Jonas had introduced me to Lady Phemenroe years ago, and her complete indifference to what I am had made me like her immediately. I did not like Palmer speaking as though she had known her, dropping her name like a socialite at a party.

Palmer shot me a look. "She's dead. I doubt she minds."

"But Myra couldn't have done it!" Mac burst out, oblivious to our little interchange. "The Council's argument makes no sense. What would she gain by it?"

"She probably thought she'd be Pythia, if Agnes died before she could pass the position onto me," Palmer surmised, clearly puzzled.

"That's just it, Cassie," Mac protested." As John pointed out to the Council, the power won't go to the assassain of a Pythia or her designated 's an old rule, to stop the initiates slaughtering each other for the position."

Palmer's face went still. "Run that by me again?" she squeaked.

"The power has never gone to the killer of a Pythia or her heir," he told her, speaking with the slow, exaggerated enunciation most people use on children. She looked stunned and – disbelieving? Upset?

For a brief moment, I wondered could she possibly have done it, but I dismissed that thought quickly. She had might have had a reason to kill Lady Phemenroe, but she had had no way of carrying it out.

"You didn't know that?" I challenged.

"No." Her voice was quiet and I could tell she wasn't sure whether to believe us or not.

She turned to Mac. "Didn't Agnes die of old age?"

I gritted my teeth and let that one pass as he answered. "That's what we believed, at first. But strange sores were noticed on the body as it was readied for burial. A doctor was called in to look at them, and became suspicious, so an autopsy was ordered. She didn't die because of her age, Cassie. She was poisoned. And considering the amount of precautions taken to safeguard the Pythia, it couldn't have been easy."

"They used arsenic, rather than a potion or curse that would have been detected by the wards," I added. Such a great woman, murdered, because the prats in the guard couldn't identify arsenic poisoning. On the other hand, they weren't assassins. I stood, reaching into my pocket for the medallion and held it out to her.

"Here. What do you sense from this?"

She scrambled away from me, suddenly scared.

"I promised to talk, nothing else," she blurted.

I advanced, still holding it out. "With no witnesses, this is our best chance to find the killer," I insisted, not bothering to hide how desperate I was for answers. She stared at it, wide-eyed and I waited for a few moments, but she said nothing.

"Well?" I demanded, trying to force her to touch it, but she danced out of ranged.

"Your chance," she reminded me swiftly. "This isn't my problem."

"Don't be so sure of that," I muttered, thinking of just how fast suspicions would turn to her if Myra proved to be innocent.

She ignored me, and stepped towards the door, keeping Mac between the two of us, like a shield. She glanced ostentatiously at her bare wrist.

"Oops, look at the time. Guess I have to be going now. Let's not do this again sometime, okay?"

She headed for the exit, but I lunged into her path, shoving the amulet against her skin. She stopped, with an aggrieved yelp.

"What did you see?" I asked eagerly and she glared at me.

"A big red mark!"

Mac smirked at me in amusement from behind her back, as I continued to press the amulet against her skin.

"And stop poking me with that thing!"

"If you are lying to me – " I began, but she cut me off.

"If I had a vision, you'd know it!" she hissed and her blue eyes caught fire like embers in the wind. "I don't just see the bad stuff anymore – I get a front row seat. And lately, I take whoever's closest along for the ride! Or have you forgotten already?"

That was not an experience I was likely to forget, but I didn't answer, I just held the medallion out to her. After a moment, she took it, holding it so gingerly, you'd think it was cursed. She weighed it in her hand for a moment, then asked:

"How does it work, exactly?"

"That's just it," Mac informed her, still grinning mockingly at me. " We don't know. It contained arsenic – we opened it last night. But it was enclosed by the metal, with no way to touch the skin."

"The answer has to be there." Frustration made me sound angrier than I meant to. "She was holding it when she died, and it contained the same poison that killed her. And where else could the poison have come from? No one would have been able to get to her to administer it, especially not repeatedly!"

Palmer turned the amulet over and over in her fingers, and as I watched her, I suddenly noticed just how small and delicate they were. I tried to yank my mind back on track, but I couldn't help wondering if her hands were as soft as they looked.

Mac started talking and I realised she had asked a question. I snapped out of it. What the Hell was wrong with me? God, I had the worst timing. Picking now, of all times, to start daydreaming about a girl who was a) Pythia, b) not even a quarter of my age and c) bound to a master vampire, no less!

Mac was explaining how the Pythia had been dosed with the poison a longer period of time, about six months. Something flickered across Palmer's face.

"Six months?" she repeated.

"Myra couldn't have have administered the poison," I said curtly. "She went missing months ago, long before Agnes took ill, and she has no motive. The Council wants her out of the way, so they are using the story of her involvement for their own purposes. Others had far better cause, but the Council can't afford to challenge them." Like her precious vampires, for example.

She mulled that over, and I could see my veiled reference to the Senate hadn't gone unnoticed. They _had _the means to do it, and their motive was sitting right in front of me.

"What about the Circle?"

I felt my temper begin to wriggle loose. "What about it?"

She shrugged. "You've implied that the Senate is guilty, but they're not the ones hunting down the only two candidates who stand in the way of the Circle's chosen heir."

I could see Mac considering it, doubt scribing itself across his features, but I couldn't even let the idea take root in my mind. The idea of the _Circle_ ordering the death of the Pythia was too much, too sickening.

"The Circle had no reason to want a change in leadership. Lady Phemenroe was an excellent Pythia."

"Well, yeah, that's the point. Agnes being good at her job might have been the problem, if the Council really is going bad. Maybe she opposed them one too many times, and someone decided that a younger, more easygoing Pythia would be – "

I slashed my arm, shutting her up, as my temper burst free.

"You have no idea what you're talking about! The Council would never stoop so low!"

Palmer gave me an astonished look, like she was surprised I wouldn't believe the leaders of the free magical world were capable of that.

"Okay, so why are you after her? Because you think she knows something?" She was sounding more dubious by the second, and I really couldn't afford that. With an effort, I calmed myself down enough to answer with some semblance of civility.

"I declined to kill her untried, but by now the Circle will has doubtless assigned another operative. If he finds her first, she will have no chance to tell her side of things.

"You must have turned them down pretty forcefully," she noted. "Because they don't seem too fond of you."

Half of them have wanted an excuse to hunt me down for years, but I didn't tell her that.

"I found out that an informant placed you at Dante's this morning. I had to battle the Circle's team to reach you first, and one of them recognized me."

She thought about that for a moment and seemed to accept it as the truth, although it was hard to tell with her.

"Say you find her," she postulated. "What then?"

If she's innocent, I'll defend her against the Circle. If not, you, Miss Palmer, are going to have to kill her. But I didn't say that because I knew if I told her the truth, she'd go through the roof and hit the ground running. And I would never have this opportunity again.

"Charges have been made that she needs to answer," I said instead. "Her fate will depend on her responses."

She avoided my eyes and stared at the ground. "Sounds like you have a plan," she murmured. "Now that you know where Myra is, why do you need me? As you pointed out, I won't be much use in Faerie, assuming we can get there."

Now the truth ran in the opposite direction to my words, but I had no choice but to lie to her.

"Because there is a chance she can time-shift away from me without someone to hold her in place. Part of your power allows you to restrict a sybil's abilities. It is usually used for training purposes, to permit a Pythia to retrieve a sybil from a time line if she falls into difficulties. You should be able to exercise the same control to ensure that Myra cannot elude me."

Now all I had to do was sit here and hope that she didn't notice just how threadbare that explanation was. If she left now, there was no way I could say I hadn't broken my word. I couldn't have saved Agnes. I hadn't even seen her since Jonas stepped down, had never had a chance to say goodbye. But I could do this one, final thing for her. I could keep my oath.

Palmer's face had gone blank and she sat still for the longest time, clearly debating internally. Abruptly, she lifted her head to meet my gaze and her eyes bored into me. I didn't let her stare me down, I just looked back, my face expressionless.

After a pause that seemed to last millennia, she smiled at me and her face lit up beautifully.

"Sounds interesting. Maybe we can work out a deal after all."

Relief surged through me like a powerful rush of adrenaline, but I just nodded calmly.

"Okay, then."

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** There are another 2 chapters to come after this, the next one will hopefully take less time than this one. Reviews are like cookies!  
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	3. Planning

**Disclaimer: This world and it's characters belong to Karen Chance, not me.**

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After I'd choked down the rest of my revolting sandwich and Mac was finished ploughing through his, I took my t-shirt off, so Mac could finish the job. Palmer's eyes raked over me and I turned my head away from her so she wouldn't see my cheeks begin to redden. And so I couldn't see her. She was proving to be incredibly distracting.

"Why are you bothering with a tat now?" she asked finally and I repressed the usual sarky response that came to mind.

"Like yours, my magic will not be reliable in Faerie," I responded shortly and she grinned.

"What, you're gonna flash your manly tattoo at the Fey?"

Mac laughed but I just ground my teeth. Goddammit, she never took anything seriously. It was so bloody annoying. I could hear her moving around behind me and Mac explaining the theory behind the way the tat would work, but then he switched on the needle and started inking in and pain shoved out all other sensations. I took a couple of deep breaths. I'd had much worse just that morning and after a few moments, I just tuned it out and refocused on the conversation.

"Regular weapons won't do much against the Fey," Mac was telling her. "You need magical stuff to hold up against the sort of thing they can dish out, but like John said, our magic doesn't work in Faerie." He kept pausing to wipe blood off my back and it was impossible to find the rhythm of the pain, to go with it and let it fade into the background, when it kept stopping and starting so irregularly.

"What sort of stuff?"

Mac began telling her about null bombs, how they worked, where they came from, but I wasn't really listening. In my head, I was running through strategies, how to get through the portal if something went wrong, the best way to deal with Palmer in Faerie and this odd, little question that had sprung up in the back of my head.

The geis. I could lift it, unless something had gone seriously wrong, but should I? It was not part of our deal, and I couldn't risk revealing my identity over someone like Palmer. On the other hand, Palmer was Pythia now, and a Pythia under a duthracht geis binding her to a member of the Senate was bad news for the rest of the world.

It was hard to concentrate with the constant sting from my back and in the end I gave up. I'd deal with it later, if it became a problem. I began listening to Mac and Palmer again, more for a distraction from the tattoo than out of any real interest.

"What do they look like?" queried Palmer and her tone was just a little too casual. I whipped my head around to look at her narrowly, bringing a fresh stab of pain from the abused skin on my back.

"Why?" I demanded.

She shrugged. She did that a lot, I noted, and it made ... things move in fascinating ways. I closed my eyes for a second. Concentrate, you moron!

"I was just wondering," she replied, more to Mac than me. "Tony used to have weapons lying around all the time. Maybe I've seen one."

I didn't believe a word of it, but Mac took her words at face value.

"Not likely, love," he informed her and I don't know why but the casual, meaningless, little endearment bugged the Hell out of me. "They cost a fortune, because nulls strong enough to make one are rare and well protected. Most of the ones floating about these days are left over from past centuries. The vamps used to hunt nulls before the truce, which is why there's hardly any left now. Most were wiped out, whole family lines destroyed to build up vamp arsenals."

"You've never seen one of the bombs then." She seemed just a little too interested for idle curiosity. I scrutinized her suspiciously while Mac chattered on about the auction of a null bomb in London. He paused halfway through to wipe down my back again.

"You want to take a break?" he inquired.

"No. Finish it," I bit out and the sharp pain began working its way along my back once more. I concentrated on Palmer, certain she was hiding something.

"What happened at the auction?" she asked. Aha! Definitely way too interested.

Mac continued with his slightly rambling account of the auction, mentioning a vague description of a null bomb as he did and Palmer's face went totally blank for a split second, displaying excellent control. But no expression can be as big a tell as letting your face move freely. Gotcha.

"You've seen one," I guessed and she hesitated. I forced myself not to wince as the needle moved lower, hitting a particularly painful spot.

"Maybe. It's been a while."

She glanced significantly in Mac's direction and I sneered.

"He is risking his life in this endeavor," I reminded her. The Circle's punishment for treason was summary execution, not to mention that if he didn't stop digging at my back soon, _I_ was going to kill him. "You can trust him as you do me."

She just raised a sardonic eyebrow, and I lost my temper. "If you do not trust me, this will never work!" I shouted. "There are going to be times, very soon, when our lives will depend on whether or not we can work together! If you cannot put faith in me, say so now. I would rather do this alone than get killed because you assume I am false!"

She sipped more Coke, putting on a careful show of obliviousness to my outburst.

"If I didn't think I could trust you, to a point, I'd have left by now," she asserted."Your hour was up a few minutes ago." She looked at the two of us for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision.

"Hypothetically, say I know where some weapons might be found. I'll describe them to you, and you tell me what they do. If we decide that they could be useful, maybe I'll tell you where they are."

I opened my mouth to squash that ridiculous suggestion, but Mac got there ahead of me.

"Sounds fair. Have at it."

"Okay," she began. "There's these old bone disks, they're kinda yellowy, with runes carved in them." I felt Mac freeze, and with good reason.

"Oh, and they have holes in the tops, like they're worn rather than cast," she added.

"That's impossible," whispered Mac. "I'm not calling you a liar, Cassie" - hah! - "but if a two-bit gangster like that Antonio has the Runes of Langgarn, I'll -"

"He doesn't," I broke in harshly. "Where did you see them?"

"This is hypothetical."

"Miss Palmer!" My blood pressure was hitting record levels.

"You can call me Cassie," she chirped and I almost got up and strangled her.

"Answer the question," I growled.

"I'll tell you what I know," offered Mac, ever the peace maker. "But it isn't much. Legend has it they were enchanted by Egil Skallagrimsson in the late tenth century."

He paused but Palmer just looked confused so he continued. "He was a Viking poet and general hell raiser - took his first life at age six when he killed another boy the outcome of a ball game - but he was one the best rune masters to ever live. Of course, some stories say that he stole the runes from Gunnhild, the witch queen of Erik Bloodaxe, king of Norway and northern England. And since Gunnhild was said to have Fey blood, it's possible the runes were enchanted by someone else entirely - "

"Mac." I pulled him back from whatever wild tangent he was headed for. He continued, but I had spent enough time with Nick to practically know the story off by heart and instead of listening I turned the idea over my head, letting the enormity of it sink in. The Runes of Langgarn. Mac was right, it did seem impossible. Bloody Hell, they'd make the job easier alright.

"So what do the Runes do?" There was an edge to Palmer's voice. She was starting to get impatient and I really couldn't blame her. Sometimes, I believed Mac found it physically painful to stick to a topic.

"It's rumoured that there was a full set at one point," Mac went on with his lecture. "But it was broken up centuries ago. It doesn't matter, since they're used separately. Each has a different power associated with it, and their only limitation is that they have to recharge once a month after use. Those that remain are highly valued weapons. It's said that they can't be warded against and that even null bombs don't have much effect on them."

Palmer looked sceptical and Mac shook his head. "It sounds fantastic, doesn't it?"

He launched into the story of that time Jonas cast Thurisaz on himself to test a ward. I almost smiled at the memory. The arrogance of the mages matched only by the smugness of the ward-masters. And all their dignity and pride vanished before the raging ogre Jonas transformed himself into.

"So what happened?" Palmer prompted.

"If you didn't know Marsden, it may be hard for you to get a visual on this, but picture the oldest, scrawniest, least threatening man you've ever seen. His magic was still strong at that point - he didn't step down until a few years ago - but he was _old_. His hands shook and he almost always had food spilled down the front of him because he couldn't see worth a damn. He kept running into things but he wouldn't wear his glasses or use charms to enhance his vision. He kept saying he didn't need them; then he'd try to shake hands with coat racks. He looked like he ought to be in a retirement home, unless you crossed him. Then you found out why he led the council for seven decades."

"Mac!" Dear God, he was worse than Jonas when it came to telling stories. At least Jonas didn't have the same fatal attraction for tangents.

Mac finally described, with his usual meandering detail, how the ogre had destroyed the ward, and most of the Council chamber, before proceeding to terrorize the spectators. I always suspected that Jonas had had a lot more control than he let in during that incident.

"How . . . amazing."

Palmer kept her voice calm, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. I tamped down my own impatience with difficulty as Mac started talking again. The Runes of Langgarn! God, I could hardly imagine seeing one, never mind casting it. The prospect made my fingers itch with anticipation.

"Yes, well, that part was all right, but then we had a rampaging ogre on our hands, didn't we? And we couldn't kill it without also killing the head of the council. Not that any of us was keen to take on that thing. We ran over each other getting out the door, then hied away like frightened rabbits. We reassembled outside and argued for almost an hour over what to do once it destroyed the wards guarding the chamber and got loose. Then old Marsden came wandering out and finally bothered to mention that the spell only lasts an hour."

"What do the other runes do? Is there a book or something?" Palmer couldn't quite keep the eagerness out of her voice.

Mac turned to me. "Would Nick have anything? I don't know the individual powers, just the basic legend."

I didn't reply. "How many do you have?" I asked Palmer, struggling to keep my voice steady.

She paused, and finally gave in. "Three," she admitted and there was a clatter as Mac dropped the needle.

"Good God," he breathed.

"Describe them," I ordered. My heart was beating so hard, I half expected it to break my ribs.

"I already did."

The woman gave blonds a bad name, I thought. "The symbols! Which runes are they?"

"If you can draw them - " Mac suggested and her face darkened angrily.

"Hagalaz, Jera, and Dagaz," she recited promptly.

"I'm on it," he declared, rushing out to the front room to call Nick.

"Where did you get them?" I asked, ignoring a stupid voice in the back of my head that excitedly noticed we were alone.

She hummed and hawed for a moment, then told me.

"Same place I got the Graea. The Senate."

Holy shit. "They didn't just hand them over."

"Not exactly," she muttered awkwardly. "Um, you wouldn't know how I get the ladies back in their box, would you?"

I ignored that. Her problem, not mine. "Tell me about the runes."

She met my eyes squarely. "Tell me about the Graea and I'll think about it."

"They are required to work for you for a year and a day after their release, or until they have saved your life. Then they will be free to terrorize mankind again."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, her brow wrinkled and her lips pressed together. Anger looked good on her, I thought, then mentally smacked myself.

"That's not what I asked. And I didn't let them out on purpose, you know!"

"You shouldn't have been able to do it at all," I snapped. "That is a very complex spell. How did you learn it?"

She didn't answer and I clenched my teeth. Her standard response to a difficult question seemed to be "go into a trance until they go away".

"Well?"

"Do you know the spell to put them back in or not?"

"Yes," I told her grudgingly.

"So maybe we can work out a trade. You give it to me, and perhaps I'll tell you where the weapons are."

It was a great pleasure to finally knock some of the arrogance out of her.

"You'll tell me anyway," I retorted. "You won't get near your vampire without me, so you'll never get a chance to use them. And even my assistance may not be enough. We need every advantage."

Mac came back before she could reply, which was probably a good thing because I was spoiling for a fight.

"Nick is very curious why I want to know but I think I put him off," he announced, and began reading from a scrap of paper he'd scribbled notes on. "He says two were purchased at auction from Donovan's back in 1872. The Circle was outbid by an anonymous bidder who paid a king's ransom for them. No one's heard from them since. I'd really like to know where you found them," he finished looking meaningfully at Palmer.

"She didn't find them," I revealed. "She stole them. From the Senate."

"Mac let out an awed whistle. "I want to hear that story."

Palmer's lips creased. "Maybe later," she said in a get-on-with-it tone.

"Alright, but I'm going to hold you to that," he commented and turned back to his notes. "This is composed mainly of hearsay, but Nick knows his rune lore, so it's likely as good as we'll get. Hagalaz cast upright causes a massive hailstorm that attacks everything in the vicinity except the caster and whomever he chooses to protect – I assume that means whoever is within his shields, although Nick wasn't sure. Cast inverted, it calms even the fiercest of storms."

I was absorbing that, thinking how useful it would it would be when I glanced up and saw an expression of approval and anticipation on Palmer's face that must have matched my own. I looked away quickly, feeling angry again.

Mac cleared his throat, and eyed Palmer awkwardly. "Er, Jera is . . . well, it's said to be, that is to say –"

"It's a fertility stone," Palmer chivvied him him on. "Stands for plenty and a time of harvest."

"Yes, quite," mumbled Mac miserably. His ears were gradually turning pink. "It's believed to cause . . . aid in, rather, some believe that –"

I grabbed the paper from his hand and read it. Jera – auctioneers claimed it cured impotence, harder erections easier and for longer. Greater stamina and amazing fertility. It read like the kind of spam you always have to clear out of your inbox, and I knew exactly why it bothered Mac, who usually would have found it hilarious. What a twat. Just because she was small, with pouty lips, and little girl eyes, Mac couldn't even say the word 'erection' in front of her.

"It was advertised as an aid for virility, something like a magical version of Viagra," I summed it up, giving Mac a scathing look. "Is that it? No other properties?"

Mac looked embarrassed and I felt like slapping him upside the head. A girl who screws vampires for kicks does not need to be treated like an innocent china doll!

"Nick doesn't know," Mac told us. "All he had to go on was the auctioneer's description , and those are known for being phrased to elicit the best possible bids. It may have other properties, but if so they weren't listed. But it was enchanted at a time when thrones ran through family lines. Ensuring the succession would have been seen as equally, if not more important than any weapon. And having the power to take fertility away from your opponents would be a great asset, throwing their lands into turmoil and civil war at the death of each king, and giving you a chance to invade in the chaos."

I frowned. Trust Palmer to raid the Senate's weapon room and come back with the sex stone. "Perhaps. But it is of little use to us, " I commented, hastily moving away from the idea of her and sex."And the last? Dagaz?"

"A breakthrough. A new beginning," Palmer translated wistfully and for a second, she looked tired and sad. The moment was so fleeting that I was certain she hadn't meant to show it and I felt a strange flash of sympathy. I crushed the brief flicker of emotion. Now was not the time.

Mac nodded in agreement with her. "Traditionally, yes, that's the meaning. But how it's interpreted in the case of battle runes . . . Nick doesn't know. "

"Then what's his best guess?" I snapped.

"He doesn't have one."

We both glared and he threw his hands up defensively.

"Don't shoot the messenger! It wasn't purchased with the others – in fact, no no one has ever heard of it being up for sale. So there's not a lot to go on.

"What about other sources?" Palmer demanded, but Mac just shook his head again.

"Nick said he would double check, but the man has a mind like a computer, love. I doubt he missed anything, not about his favourite hobby. The rune is mentioned in several old sources, but they're mute about what it does. "

The answer seemed pretty obvious to me. "There is one way to find out," I stated, and got a repeat of the raised eyebrow. "Cast it."

"Did you sleep through the story about the rampaging ogre or what?" she sneered and I sneered right back.

"I will cast it if you are afraid," I spat. "Where is it?"

She paused, thinking, and my heart began to pound again. After a moment, she shuddered.

"You said the runes have to recharge after every use," she said, in answer the query on Mac's face. "If we cast it, we won't be able to use it again for a month."

"Perhaps." I spoke up quickly, before Mac could get a word in. "However, if it hasn't been used in centuries, it may have a cumulative charge built up that will last through many castings."

"I don't know whether it's been used lately or not," Palmer objected.

"Or the cumulative effect may simply make the casting an especially strong one," Mac added.

I scowled at him. "One thing is certain. We cannot plan how to use it if we do not know what it does," I pointed out. "As it stands, it is useless to us. Casting it would not make it more so." I paused, letting that sink in. "Where is it?" I repeated, and Palmer sighed.

"Promise you'll teach me the spell to trap the Graea and I'll tell you."

"Done." I'd teach her how to tap dance if she'd tell me where the damn rune was.

She shrugged again, a ridiculously sensuous little ripple of her shoulders. "In that duffle over there."


	4. Pleasure and Pain

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own these characters or this world. I'm not profiting, don't sue me!  
**

**A/N: Finally, the good stuff :D Enjoy and please review!  
**

* * *

BLOODY HELL!

I leaped off the bed, like an athlete rising from the starting position, Mac doing much the same thing. He got there first, partly because he was closer, but mostly because my jeans were still undone and they quickly succumbed to gravity's charms. I zipped up hastily, trying to ignore Palmer's eyes fixed on me.

Mac opened the bag carefully, and set two null bombs, a trap box and a little velvet bag out on the fridge. He sputtered incoherently at the sight.

"Quite a collection," he managed eventually. He wasn't kidding! I finally managed to drag my eyes away to look at Palmer.

"Was this everything?" I asked. "Did you take everything the Senate had?"

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly. "I know there's a war on - I was there when it started, remember?"

I snorted softly. Some things are, unfortunately, unforgettable. Where she got in once, perhaps she could get in again, I reasoned. And a few more toys like these would certainly reduce my plan from 'suicidal' to 'slightly insane'.

"What else do they have?" I inquired.

"None of your business."

I bit my lip. In a second, I really was going to wring her neck."We will need help in Faerie," I ground out, keeping a tight grip on my temper. "If you stole these things, you could get others."

"I'm not going to take the rest of their weapons! They're at war!" she exclaimed. "Anyway, I couldn't get back in there without using my power, and I'm trying to avoid that."

My jaw almost dropped. "Why? It is the best weapon you have?" The more I learned about this woman, the more she baffled me.

"It's also the scariest," she told me. "As you pointed out, I don't know what I'm doing. And if I mess up, it could get a lot of people killed."

A particularly niggling penny finally dropped. "Is that why you wouldn't shift us out of Dante's?"

She nodded and I was caught between standing there with my mouth open and shaking some sense into her.

"That makes no sense," I protested. " You took us to the 19th century earlier, trying to get away from me."

"I did not!" she yelped.

Christ Almighty, she was either an amnesiac, or the stupidest person I'd ever met. "I was there, if you recall," I reminded her sharply. "Your lover almost killed me."

She took a deep breath, making an obvious attempt to control her temper. I was spitefully glad that I wasn't the only one reaching the end of my tether.

"I don't care whether you believe this or not," she stated, her voice simmering with anger. "But I didn't have anything to do with us ending up at that play. The power just flared - I don't know why. The only thing I did was get us out of there as quickly as possible."

Bullshit.

"The Pythia controls the power, not the reverse," I snapped.

The repressed energy drained out of her. "Believe what you want," she replied wearily. "If what you said earlier about us needing every advantage is true, I have a job for Mac."

He started. "What?" He hadn't looked up from the display on top of the fridge since he had set it out, and I sincerely doubted he knew what we were talking about.

"My ward," Palmer continued, pulling down the back of her top to show him the protective pentagram. "Pritkin said the Circle deactivated it. Can you fix it?"

It amazed me that someone could grow up in our world, yet know so little about magic.

"I did not say 'deactivate'," I sneered. " That would be impossible. From a distance, the Circle can only block it, which they almost certainly did for fear that you would use it against them. They would not have closed the connection otherwise - whenever it flared, it gave them an approximation of your location and they want to find you badly."

She didn't respond and I paused to think. Her explanation of that incident at Dante's was worrying. Either she was telling the truth, in which case she was very dangerous, or, more likely, she was lying, and we couldn't trust her. I looked at her again: Mac was leaning over her back and she was clearly paying no attention whatsoever to me. Suddenly impatient, I moved forward, getting in her face, forcing her to look at me.

"Your explanation of the power's actions make no sense," I growled. "Not if you are truly Pythia."

She didn't look at me. Instead, she seemed to focus on my torso and her breathing changed, sounding heavier, almost laboured. After a long pause, she met my gaze and her pupils were dilated. Up this close, it was impossible not to notice how beautiful her eyes were: perfectly shaped, in a shade of blue that shamed the desert sky, framed by an elegant curve of lashes, they rendered me tongue-tied. And that was before she reached out and pressed her hands against my bare chest.

Slender and exquisitely small, they carefully outlined every muscle they found, stroking over my pecs and lightly brushing my nipples. I gaped at her, absolutely shocked. Judging by her expression, she was as surprised as I was. My hands seemed to move of their own accord to grip her wrists. I wanted to look down, to see her caress me, but I couldn't seem to break eye-contact. Her gaze held me in thrall, and as I captured her wrists, I really couldn't bring myself to care. Then I caught fire.

I've been tortured before. 50 years in the Corps, it was inevitable. But I had never been in this much pain. I felt as though I was being slowly dissolved in sulfuric acid. I was vaguely aware that I had fallen, but I had no idea how or why, because the whole world was nothing but unrelenting agony. I was being pulled apart, atom by atom. It went on and on and on, and I screamed, or maybe it was someone else, as I was burned alive. Then it vanished, as though it had never been there.

I arched my back, gasping for breath like a drowning man breaching the surface for the last time and as my ability to see returned, I found myself lying on the floor. Mac was standing over me, holding onto my wrists. He dropped them and turned away, leaving me staring blankly at the ceiling. I could hear him talking to Palmer, but the words made no sense to me. I was dizzy, sick and light-headed: although the pain was gone, I really wanted to curl up in a dark room, with an armful of morphine or maybe a few litres of nitrous oxide.

Mac loomed over me and started wiping my face with a damp cloth. I raised an arm to push him away, but my muscles seemed to have been replaced by leaking bags of water and I gave up. He moved back to Palmer and I began to get a grip.

It's gone, I scolded myself. You're not in pain, or even injured for God's sake, so stop moping about on the floor and get up! I forced my breathing to even out, and propped myself up on my elbows. My head spun, but it passed quickly and I slowly got to my feet. I leaned against the bench and groped for my t-shirt. It took me a couple of tries to get it on, because my fingers kept spasming randomly. That done, I sat down heavily. What the Hell just happened?

I heard a grunt from Palmer as she hauled herself to her feet. "Could Mircea have altered the geis?" she rasped and it clicked. Of course. She had touched me and geasa reacted poorly to me under the best of circumstances. I peeked at her for a second and then away again, before my eyes could be drawn to her breasts.

"Unlikely," I grunted, deciding that the wall in front of me was probably a safer option for scrutiny.

"Would someone please tell me what the Hell just happened?" Mac interjected.

Palmer ignored him. "Then why am I suddenly lusting after every guy I meet?" she all but wailed.

I began an in-depth examination of a cobweb in the corner of the room, in a doomed attempt to stop the word 'lust' from echoing around my head.

"The pain was the geis defending you from an unauthorized partner. It would not draw you to one." Especially not a half-incubus. I could have over-rode the geis altogether, but these days, it was so instinctive to ignore my demonic instincts, that I hadn't even thought of it.

"So what is going on?" she asked.

"I . . . am not sure," I admitted. My brain felt simultaneously overcrowded and too empty. I took a shaky breath and closed my eyes.

I was oscillating wildly between anger, desire, frustration and good, old-fashioned jealousy of every other man she had met today. After a moment, I managed a coherent question.

"Did anything go wrong with the Ritual?"

"What ritual?" Mac interrupted plaintively.

"The transfer ritual," Palmer explained. "The one required to become Pythia. I don't know what it's called. Agnes started it, but she said I had to, uh . . . " She trailed off with a slightly abashed glance at Mac.

"But Mircea took care of that," I pointed out, suppressing a shudder. Vamps in general unsettle me, but that particular one left me with an urge to scrub my skin raw.

"Not exactly," she muttered. "We were interrupted. Rasputin attacked, remember?"

"Vividly." I frowned, as that sunk in. The implications were fairly big.

"You're saying you're still a virgin?" I asked, still counting bricks.

I could feel her glare without having to see her.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes!" she retorted.

I shook my head incredulously. She'd grown up in a court full of predators, was magically bound to the biggest predator of them all, and she was still a virgin.

"I never would have considered that," I murmured. I wasn't going to admit it, but she had just gone up a notch in my estimation.

"Do you have a theory or not?" she hissed.

"The most likely explanation is that the Pythian rites are trying to complete themselves," I answered.

Palmer was digested that quietly. "So let me get this straight," she squeaked. "Since Mircea isn't here, the unfinished ritual is starting to draw me to other men to complete itself. But the geis doesn't like that, and it's making its feelings known by torturing me and anybody who gets near me. Is that right? And more importantly, is it going to keep happening?"

"What geis?" Mac squawked. "You're under a geis?" I realized the poor guy still had no idea what just happened.

"Her vampire master put her under a dúthracht. It is conflicting with the Pythian Rites, which have yet to be completed," I summarized.

"Oh, Bloody Hell." Mac sat down abruptly.

"Answer me!" snarled Palmer.

"I don't know enough about the Rites to be certain if there's a way out at this point," I told her. "The ceremonies are held within the Pythia's court, and there are few records kept on anything connected to the office."

"What about witnesses?" she questioned frantically. "The Ritual was done for Agnes once, right?"

"That was more than 80 years ago. And even if any witnesses still live, they would be of little use. Most of the ritual is carried out privately. The only people who know the complete procedure are the Pythia and her designated heir."

"Myra," she whispered despondently. "What about the geis then?"

"You are already doing what you can by staying away from Mircea," I said, treading carefully. "That will at least slow down the process. There is no other remedy, other than having it removed." Which I could do. I pushed that thought away.

"Then how do you do that?" she challenged.

"You don't." I felt a slight twinge of guilt.

"Don't give me that!" she cried. "There has to be a way."

"If there is, I don't know it." Now I had moved on to full blown, bare faced lying and I didn't like it. She didn't look convinced, so I went on. "If I did, I would tell you. Unless the Ritual is completed, it will continue to draw you to men, but the geis will oppose all but Mircea. And it will likely grow worse over time. The dúthracht is spiteful when it is opposed." I should know! I invented the damn thing, and God, that was not proving to be one of my better ideas.

"But . . . but what about Chavez?" Palmer stuttered. "He touched me and I didn't go writhing all over the ice-rink!"

"You were at the ice-rink? Why? I demanded angrily.

She pointed at the duffel bag that had held the weapons. "To get that."

My already over-taxed blood pressure forgot about the roof and started beating its fists on the stratosphere. If I could have touched her, I would have thrown her off the nearest high building.

"So you left it unattended in a public arena where anyone could have picked it up?"

"It was in a locker," she sulked. "And can we get back to the point? I felt something start to build when Casanova touched me. It was nothing like what just happened, but it felt - I don't know. Like it could get bad fast. Only he dropped my hand before it flared. But Chavez didn't affect me at all, and that was later. So if you're right and the reaction is strengthening, shouldn't it have been worse?"

Oh, I really didn't want to touch that one. "I don't know," I mumbled.

"The only reason I can think of," Mac spoke up thoughtfully. "Is that the geis determines the amount of threat by reading the interest level of any prospective partners and reacts accordingly. Casanova was likely somewhat attracted to you and this Chavez wasn't. Casanova was therefore identified by the geis as the wrong match and, as a potential problem, got warned off. But Chavez, although also the wrong one to complete the bond, was not interested in you, and therefore was not considered a danger."

My eyes jerked away from the wall almost of their own volition, to meet Palmer's horrified expression. I guess she'd made the same connection I had. Thanks a lot, _mate_.

"Of course," Mac rambled on. "When there's a mutual attraction, the reaction is stronger because the warning is going both ways . . . " He finally realized what he was saying and shut up.

I could cheerfully have knocked him out. My cheeks were beginning to burn and I studied the wall intensely, suddenly wishing I could be somewhere, anywhere else. Mortification and frustration tugged at my gut: while it stung, having my weird, stupid crush - there was no other word for it - revealed like this, it wasn't half as bad as knowing she wanted me too. At that moment, I hated my father and my life more than usual.

I don't know if we would have slept together, had things been different. Probably not, in all honesty. But not having the choice rankled.

"Okay." Palmer broke through the melée in my mind. "How am I going to deal with this?" She was talking to Mac, which was good, because I really wasn't in any fit state to answer.

Mac rubbed his chin pensively."Usually, there's a way out built into these things, especially the dúthracht. It has a habit of causing chaos, and I can't imagine anyone putting it in place and not giving himself an escape route. But only two people are likely to know what the safety net is."

"Mircea and the mage who cast it," Palmer noted.

"And the mage was doubtless someone under the vamp's protection. He isn't going to risk losing that to help you, even if we could figure out which of the hundreds of rogue mages - and that's just the ones in this country - Mircea used. Of course, there aren't a lot with that kind of skill, outside of the Black Circle. But that doesn't help greatly. Say we could narrow it down to a few dozen, we'd still have to find him or her, and if that was easy it would have been done long before now."

"Is there anything that can slow this thing down, make the reaction less . . . extreme?" she pleaded and I finally found my voice.

"Once we cross into Faerie, it may not be an issue. Like the rest of our magic, the geis should not work well there." I paused, tried to gather my thoughts and failed when I noticed her staring at me in my peripheral vision. "I, er, think this would go more smoothly if you wait elsewhere. Mac will look at your ward when he finishes with me."

I kept my eyes on the wall as she got up, stowed the weapons back in the bag, and left, not looking away until the curtain swished back into place.

Then I raised my gaze to Mac's smirking visage. "Not. One. Word."

He shrugged. "Shirt off and get on the bench."

In fairness to him, he lasted at least five minutes before he caved.

"So," he started. I braced myself and said nothing. "The Pythia and the War Mage. S'got a ring to it. Kinda like Romeo and Juliet."

I twisted to stare at him, saying nothing for a long moment. "That doesn't even deserve a comment."

He began to snigger. "Mac! This isn't funny!" I sounded pathetic, even to myself.

He laughed harder, and l lay back down, resting my chin on my arms dejectedly. "Just shut up and get on with it," I grumbled. Eventually, he pulled himself together, but he was still giddy enough to make me nervous about him poking at my back with a needle.

I sighed and tried to ignore him. I needed to make some sense of the thoughts orbiting my head, like migrane satellites.

So. The geis was now a problem. But I had told Palmer there was no way out. It had been a reflex, automatic self-defense. And it said a lot about me, most of it unpleasant. There was only one honourable thing to do. I groaned aloud and Mac paused.

"You okay, mate?" he asked and he sounded concerned.

"Fine," I grunted. "Just thinking."

Shit. I was going to have to cast the counter-spell for her. I chewed anxiously on my tongue, trying to see a way out. Her earlier comment about my conception wandered into my mind again, and the irony of it occured to me. If I had never been born, there would be no geis to bind her. And my wife wouldn't be dead, the Codex wouldn't be floating around, holding apocalyptic potential within its pages and - No. Now was not the moment for one of my inverted "It's A Wonderful Life," daydreams.

She was surely going to have to sleep sometime. I'd cast it then and avoid touching her like the plague in between whiles.

Conscience assuaged, I did my best to lie still, as Mac carefully etched the tattoo into my skin, but after the pure agony I'd just experienced, the constant nagging pain made my skin crawl.

I wished I could just drift away to some dark corner of my brain as I normally did when I was in pain, but right now, the last place I could bear to be was inside my own head. Memories of my wife, of the demon realms, and the old longings Palmer stirred up in me, all tangled and twisted together, to something I couldn't express or fully understand. Perhaps it was a good thing I had never been a proper member of the Corps, I thought. If I actually had had to go the annual psychological evaluations that everyone else had to endure, I would have been thrown out years ago, because at this stage, even I had to admit that I was one screwed up bastard.


End file.
